f of a young poet, who is reading out with
all possible pathos a new tragedy of destiny, tedious and silly enough
even to be read aloud on such an occasion. A delightful feature of the
affair was, that one heard a species of _obbligato_ accompaniment going
on in the next room, a species of growling, like the rumble of distant
thunder. This was the voice of the Consistorial President, who was
playing piquet with Count Walther Puck, and making himself audible in
this manner.

The poet read out, in the most dulcet accents at his command--

"Ah! but once more! once more only
Let me hear thee, voice of beauty,
Voice of rapture, voice of sweetness,
Voice from out the deep abysses,
Voice from out the heights of Heaven!
Hark! oh, listen----"

Here the thunder which had been rumbling so long broke out into a peal:
"Hell and damnation!" roared the Consistorial President's voice,
re-echoing through the room, so that the people jumped up from their
chairs, alarmed. But it was pretty that the poet, not suffering himself
to be disturbed in the slightest, went on reading--

"Yea! it is the breath beloved,
Music of those lips of nectar."

But a destiny higher than that which ruled in the poet's tragedy did
not permit him to finish his reading. Just as he was going to raise his
voice to the highest pitch of tragic power, to enunciate a terrible
execration which his hero was going to utter, something, heaven knows
what, got into his throat, so that he broke out into a frightful fit of
coughing, by no means to be assuaged, and had to be assisted out of the
room, more dead than alive.

This sudden interruption appeared to be the reverse of disagreeable to
the lady of the house, who had for some time been giving indications of
weariness and annoyance. As soon as the tranquillity of the company was
restored, she pointed out that it was time that a vivid narrative of
something should take the place of reading, and thought Euchar ought
really to make it his duty to undertake this, seeing that, in general,
he was so obstinately silent, as to contribute little to the
entertainment of the company.

Euchar said, modestly, that he was anything but a good story-teller,
and that the tale which he thought of telling was of a very serious,
perhaps even terrible description, and might be anything but enjoyable
by the company. But four very young ladie